Almayer, who was steering1, nodded without speaking, and by a slight sweep of his paddle laid the head of the canoe in the required direction.
They were just leaving the southern outlet2 of the Pantai, which lay behind them in a straight and long vista3 of water shining between two walls of thick verdure that ran downwards4 and towards each other, till at last they joined and sank together in the far-away distance. The sun, rising above the calm waters of the Straits, marked its own path by a streak5 of light that glided6 upon the sea and darted7 up the wide reach of the river, a hurried messenger of light and life to the gloomy forests of the coast; and in this radiance of the sun’s pathway floated the black canoe heading for the islet which lay bathed in sunshine, the yellow sands of its encircling beach shining like an inlaid golden disc on the polished steel of the unwrinkled sea. To the north and south of it rose other islets, joyous8 in their brilliant colouring of green and yellow, and on the main coast the sombre line of mangrove9 bushes ended to the southward in the reddish cliffs of Tanjong Mirrah, advancing into the sea, steep and shadowless under the clear, light of the early morning.
The bottom of the canoe grated upon the sand as the little craft ran upon the beach. Ali leaped on shore and held on while Dain stepped out carrying Nina in his arms, exhausted10 by the events and the long travelling during the night. Almayer was the last to leave the boat, and together with Ali ran it higher up on the beach. Then Ali, tired out by the long paddling, laid down in the shade of the canoe, and incontinently fell asleep. Almayer sat sideways on the gunwale, and with his arms crossed on his breast, looked to the southward upon the sea.
After carefully laying Nina down in the shade of the bushes growing in the middle of the islet, Dain threw himself beside her and watched in silent concern the tears that ran down from under her closed eyelids11, and lost themselves in that fine sand upon which they both were lying face to face. These tears and this sorrow were for him a profound and disquieting12 mystery. Now, when the danger was past, why should she grieve? He doubted her love no more than he would have doubted the fact of his own existence, but as he lay looking ardently13 in her face, watching her tears, her parted lips, her very breath, he was uneasily conscious of something in her he could not understand. Doubtless she had the wisdom of perfect beings. He sighed. He felt something invisible that stood between them, something that would let him approach her so far, but no farther. No desire, no longing14, no effort of will or length of life could destroy this vague feeling of their difference. With awe15 but also with great pride he concluded that it was her own incomparable perfection. She was his, and yet she was like a woman from another world. His! His! He exulted16 in the glorious thought; nevertheless her tears pained him.
With a wisp of her own hair which he took in his hand with timid reverence17 he tried in an access of clumsy tenderness to dry the tears that trembled on her eyelashes. He had his reward in a fleeting18 smile that brightened her face for the short fraction of a second, but soon the tears fell faster than ever, and he could bear it no more. He rose and walked towards Almayer, who still sat absorbed in his contemplation of the sea. It was a very, very long time since he had seen the sea—that sea that leads everywhere, brings everything, and takes away so much. He had almost forgotten why he was there, and dreamily he could see all his past life on the smooth and boundless19 surface that glittered before his eyes.
Dain’s hand laid on Almayer’s shoulder recalled him with a start from some country very far away indeed. He turned round, but his eyes seemed to look rather at the place where Dain stood than at the man himself. Dain felt uneasy under the unconscious gaze.
“What?” said Almayer.
“She is crying,” murmured Dain, softly.
“She is crying! Why?” asked Almayer, indifferently.
“I came to ask you. My Ranee smiles when looking at the man she loves. It is the white woman that is crying now. You would know.”
“Go, Tuan Putih,” urged Dain. “Go to her; her tears are more terrible to me than the anger of gods.”
“Are they? You will see them more than once. She told me she could not live without you,” answered Almayer, speaking without the faintest spark of expression in his face, “so it behoves you to go to her quick, for fear you may find her dead.”
He burst into a loud and unpleasant laugh which made Dain stare at him with some apprehension22, but got off the gunwale of the boat and moved slowly towards Nina, glancing up at the sun as he walked.
“And you go when the sun is overhead?” he said.
“Yes, Tuan. Then we go,” answered Dain.
“I have not long to wait,” muttered Almayer. “It is most important for me to see you go. Both of you. Most important,” he repeated, stopping short and looking at Dain fixedly23.
He went on again towards Nina, and Dain remained behind. Almayer approached his daughter and stood for a time looking down on her. She did not open her eyes, but hearing footsteps near her, murmured in a low sob25, “Dain.”
Almayer hesitated for a minute and then sank on the sand by her side. She, not hearing a responsive word, not feeling a touch, opened her eyes—saw her father, and sat up suddenly with a movement of terror.
“Oh, father!” she murmured faintly, and in that word there was expressed regret and fear and dawning hope.
“I shall never forgive you, Nina,” said Almayer, in a dispassionate voice. “You have torn my heart from me while I dreamt of your happiness. You have deceived me. Your eyes that for me were like truth itself lied to me in every glance—for how long? You know that best. When you were caressing26 my cheek you were counting the minutes to the sunset that was the signal for your meeting with that man—there!”
He ceased, and they both sat silent side by side, not looking at each other, but gazing at the vast expanse of the sea. Almayer’s words had dried Nina’s tears, and her look grew hard as she stared before her into the limitless sheet of blue that shone limpid27, unwaving, and steady like heaven itself. He looked at it also, but his features had lost all expression, and life in his eyes seemed to have gone out. The face was a blank, without a sign of emotion, feeling, reason, or even knowledge of itself. All passion, regret, grief, hope, or anger—all were gone, erased28 by the hand of fate, as if after this last stroke everything was over and there was no need for any record.
Those few who saw Almayer during the short period of his remaining days were always impressed by the sight of that face that seemed to know nothing of what went on within: like the blank wall of a prison enclosing sin, regrets, and pain, and wasted life, in the cold indifference29 of mortar30 and stones.
“What is there to forgive?” asked Nina, not addressing Almayer directly, but more as if arguing with herself. “Can I not live my own life as you have lived yours? The path you would have wished me to follow has been closed to me by no fault of mine.”
“You never told me,” muttered Almayer.
“You never asked me,” she answered, “and I thought you were like the others and did not care. I bore the memory of my humiliation31 alone, and why should I tell you that it came to me because I am your daughter? I knew you could not avenge32 me.”
“And yet I was thinking of that only,” interrupted Almayer, “and I wanted to give you years of happiness for the short day of your suffering. I only knew of one way.”
“Ah! but it was not my way!” she replied. “Could you give me happiness without life? Life!” she repeated with sudden energy that sent the word ringing over the sea. “Life that means power and love,” she added in a low voice.
“That!” said Almayer, pointing his finger at Dain standing33 close by and looking at them in curious wonder.
“Yes, that!” she replied, looking her father full in the face and noticing for the first time with a slight gasp34 of fear the unnatural35 rigidity36 of his features.
“I would have rather strangled you with my own hands,” said Almayer, in an expressionless voice which was such a contrast to the desperate bitterness of his feelings that it surprised even himself. He asked himself who spoke37, and, after looking slowly round as if expecting to see somebody, turned again his eyes towards the sea.
“You say that because you do not understand the meaning of my words,” she said sadly. “Between you and my mother there never was any love. When I returned to Sambir I found the place which I thought would be a peaceful refuge for my heart, filled with weariness and hatred—and mutual38 contempt. I have listened to your voice and to her voice. Then I saw that you could not understand me; for was I not part of that woman? Of her who was the regret and shame of your life? I had to choose—I hesitated. Why were you so blind? Did you not see me struggling before your eyes? But, when he came, all doubt disappeared, and I saw only the light of the blue and cloudless heaven—”
“I will tell you the rest,” interrupted Almayer: “when that man came I also saw the blue and the sunshine of the sky. A thunderbolt has fallen from that sky, and suddenly all is still and dark around me for ever. I will never forgive you, Nina; and to-morrow I shall forget you! I shall never forgive you,” he repeated with mechanical obstinacy39 while she sat, her head bowed down as if afraid to look at her father.
To him it seemed of the utmost importance that he should assure her of his intention of never forgiving. He was convinced that his faith in her had been the foundation of his hopes, the motive40 of his courage, of his determination to live and struggle, and to be victorious41 for her sake. And now his faith was gone, destroyed by her own hands; destroyed cruelly, treacherously42, in the dark; in the very moment of success. In the utter wreck43 of his affections and of all his feelings, in the chaotic44 disorder45 of his thoughts, above the confused sensation of physical pain that wrapped him up in a sting as of a whiplash curling round him from his shoulders down to his feet, only one idea remained clear and definite—not to forgive her; only one vivid desire—to forget her. And this must be made clear to her—and to himself—by frequent repetition. That was his idea of his duty to himself—to his race—to his respectable connections; to the whole universe unsettled and shaken by this frightful46 catastrophe47 of his life. He saw it clearly and believed he was a strong man. He had always prided himself upon his unflinching firmness. And yet he was afraid. She had been all in all to him. What if he should let the memory of his love for her weaken the sense of his dignity? She was a remarkable48 woman; he could see that; all the latent greatness of his nature—in which he honestly believed—had been transfused49 into that slight, girlish figure. Great things could be done! What if he should suddenly take her to his heart, forget his shame, and pain, and anger, and—follow her! What if he changed his heart if not his skin and made her life easier between the two loves that would guard her from any mischance! His heart yearned50 for her. What if he should say that his love for her was greater than . . .
“I will never forgive you, Nina!” he shouted, leaping up madly in the sudden fear of his dream.
This was the last time in his life that he was heard to raise his voice. Henceforth he spoke always in a monotonous51 whisper like an instrument of which all the strings52 but one are broken in a last ringing clamour under a heavy blow.
She rose to her feet and looked at him. The very violence of his cry soothed53 her in an intuitive conviction of his love, and she hugged to her breast the lamentable54 remnants of that affection with the unscrupulous greediness of women who cling desperately55 to the very scraps56 and rags of love, any kind of love, as a thing that of right belongs to them and is the very breath of their life. She put both her hands on Almayer’s shoulders, and looking at him half tenderly, half playfully, she said—
“You speak so because you love me.”
Almayer shook his head.
“Yes, you do,” she insisted softly; then after a short pause she added, “and you will never forget me.”
Almayer shivered slightly. She could not have said a more cruel thing.
“Here is the boat coming now,” said Dain, his arm outstretched towards a black speck57 on the water between the coast and the islet.
They all looked at it and remained standing in silence till the little canoe came gently on the beach and a man landed and walked towards them. He stopped some distance off and hesitated.
“What news?” asked Dain.
“We have had orders secretly and in the night to take off from this islet a man and a woman. I see the woman. Which of you is the man?”
“Come, delight of my eyes,” said Dain to Nina. “Now we go, and your voice shall be for my ears only. You have spoken your last words to the Tuan Putih, your father. Come.”
She hesitated for a while, looking at Almayer, who kept his eyes steadily58 on the sea, then she touched his forehead in a lingering kiss, and a tear—one of her tears—fell on his cheek and ran down his immovable face.
“Goodbye,” she whispered, and remained irresolute59 till he pushed her suddenly into Dain’s arms.
“If you have any pity for me,” murmured Almayer, as if repeating some sentence learned by heart, “take that woman away.”
He stood very straight, his shoulders thrown back, his head held high, and looked at them as they went down the beach to the canoe, walking enlaced in each other’s arms. He looked at the line of their footsteps marked in the sand. He followed their figures moving in the crude blaze of the vertical60 sun, in that light violent and vibrating, like a triumphal flourish of brazen61 trumpets62. He looked at the man’s brown shoulders, at the red sarong round his waist; at the tall, slender, dazzling white figure he supported. He looked at the white dress, at the falling masses of the long black hair. He looked at them embarking63, and at the canoe growing smaller in the distance, with rage, despair, and regret in his heart, and on his face a peace as that of a carved image of oblivion. Inwardly he felt himself torn to pieces, but Ali—who now aroused—stood close to his master, saw on his features the blank expression of those who live in that hopeless calm which sightless eyes only can give.
The canoe disappeared, and Almayer stood motionless with his eyes fixed24 on its wake. Ali from under the shade of his hand examined the coast curiously64. As the sun declined, the sea-breeze sprang up from the northward65 and shivered with its breath the glassy surface of the water.
“Dapat!” exclaimed Ali, joyously66. “Got him, master! Got prau! Not there! Look more Tanah Mirrah side. Aha! That way! Master, see? Now plain. See?”
Almayer followed Ali’s forefinger67 with his eyes for a long time in vain. At last he sighted a triangular68 patch of yellow light on the red background of the cliffs of Tanjong Mirrah. It was the sail of the prau that had caught the sunlight and stood out, distinct with its gay tint69, on the dark red of the cape70. The yellow triangle crept slowly from cliff to cliff, till it cleared the last point of land and shone brilliantly for a fleeting minute on the blue of the open sea. Then the prau bore up to the southward: the light went out of the sail, and all at once the vessel71 itself disappeared, vanishing in the shadow of the steep headland that looked on, patient and lonely, watching over the empty sea.
Almayer never moved. Round the little islet the air was full of the talk of the rippling72 water. The crested73 wavelets ran up the beach audaciously, joyously, with the lightness of young life, and died quickly, unresistingly, and graciously, in the wide curves of transparent74 foam75 on the yellow sand. Above, the white clouds sailed rapidly southwards as if intent upon overtaking something. Ali seemed anxious.
“Master,” he said timidly, “time to get house now. Long way off to pull. All ready, sir.”
“Wait,” whispered Almayer.
Now she was gone his business was to forget, and he had a strange notion that it should be done systematically76 and in order. To Ali’s great dismay he fell on his hands and knees, and, creeping along the sand, erased carefully with his hand all traces of Nina’s footsteps. He piled up small heaps of sand, leaving behind him a line of miniature graves right down to the water. After burying the last slight imprint77 of Nina’s slipper78 he stood up, and, turning his face towards the headland where he had last seen the prau, he made an effort to shout out loud again his firm resolve to never forgive. Ali watching him uneasily saw only his lips move, but heard no sound. He brought his foot down with a stamp. He was a firm man—firm as a rock. Let her go. He never had a daughter. He would forget. He was forgetting already.
Ali approached him again, insisting on immediate79 departure, and this time he consented, and they went together towards their canoe, Almayer leading. For all his firmness he looked very dejected and feeble as he dragged his feet slowly through the sand on the beach; and by his side—invisible to Ali—stalked that particular fiend whose mission it is to jog the memories of men, lest they should forget the meaning of life. He whispered into Almayer’s ear a childish prattle80 of many years ago. Almayer, his head bent81 on one side, seemed to listen to his invisible companion, but his face was like the face of a man that has died struck from behind—a face from which all feelings and all expression are suddenly wiped off by the hand of unexpected death.
They slept on the river that night, mooring82 their canoe under the bushes and lying down in the bottom side by side, in the absolute exhaustion83 that kills hunger, thirst, all feeling and all thought in the overpowering desire for that deep sleep which is like the temporary annihilation of the tired body. Next day they started again and fought doggedly84 with the current all the morning, till about midday they reached the settlement and made fast their little craft to the jetty of Lingard and Co. Almayer walked straight to the house, and Ali followed, paddles on shoulder, thinking that he would like to eat something. As they crossed the front courtyard they noticed the abandoned look of the place. Ali looked in at the different servants’ houses: all were empty. In the back courtyard there was the same absence of sound and life. In the cooking-shed the fire was out and the black embers were cold. A tall, lean man came stealthily out of the banana plantation85, and went away rapidly across the open space looking at them with big, frightened eyes over his shoulder. Some vagabond without a master; there were many such in the settlement, and they looked upon Almayer as their patron. They prowled about his premises86 and picked their living there, sure that nothing worse could befall them than a shower of curses when they got in the way of the white man, whom they trusted and liked, and called a fool amongst themselves. In the house, which Almayer entered through the back verandah, the only living thing that met his eyes was his small monkey which, hungry and unnoticed for the last two days, began to cry and complain in monkey language as soon as it caught sight of the familiar face. Almayer soothed it with a few words and ordered Ali to bring in some bananas, then while Ali was gone to get them he stood in the doorway88 of the front verandah looking at the chaos89 of overturned furniture. Finally he picked up the table and sat on it while the monkey let itself down from the roof-stick by its chain and perched on his shoulder. When the bananas came they had their breakfast together; both hungry, both eating greedily and showering the skins round them recklessly, in the trusting silence of perfect friendship. Ali went away, grumbling90, to cook some rice himself, for all the women about the house had disappeared; he did not know where. Almayer did not seem to care, and, after he finished eating, he sat on the table swinging his legs and staring at the river as if lost in thought.
After some time he got up and went to the door of a room on the right of the verandah. That was the office. The office of Lingard and Co. He very seldom went in there. There was no business now, and he did not want an office. The door was locked, and he stood biting his lower lip, trying to think of the place where the key could be. Suddenly he remembered: in the women’s room hung upon a nail. He went over to the doorway where the red curtain hung down in motionless folds, and hesitated for a moment before pushing it aside with his shoulder as if breaking down some solid obstacle. A great square of sunshine entering through the window lay on the floor. On the left he saw Mrs. Almayer’s big wooden chest, the lid thrown back, empty; near it the brass91 nails of Nina’s European trunk shone in the large initials N. A. on the cover. A few of Nina’s dresses hung on wooden pegs92, stiffened93 in a look of offended dignity at their abandonment. He remembered making the pegs himself and noticed that they were very good pegs. Where was the key? He looked round and saw it near the door where he stood. It was red with rust87. He felt very much annoyed at that, and directly afterwards wondered at his own feeling. What did it matter? There soon would be no key—no door—nothing! He paused, key in hand, and asked himself whether he knew well what he was about. He went out again on the verandah and stood by the table thinking. The monkey jumped down, and, snatching a banana skin, absorbed itself in picking it to shreds94 industriously95.
“Forget!” muttered Almayer, and that word started before him a sequence of events, a detailed96 programme of things to do. He knew perfectly97 well what was to be done now. First this, then that, and then forgetfulness would come easy. Very easy. He had a fixed idea that if he should not forget before he died he would have to remember to all eternity98. Certain things had to be taken out of his life, stamped out of sight, destroyed, forgotten. For a long time he stood in deep thought, lost in the alarming possibilities of unconquerable memory, with the fear of death and eternity before him. “Eternity!” he said aloud, and the sound of that word recalled him out of his reverie. The monkey started, dropped the skin, and grinned up at him amicably99.
He went towards the office door and with some difficulty managed to open it. He entered in a cloud of dust that rose under his feet.
Books open with torn pages bestrewed the floor; other books lay about grimy and black, looking as if they had never been opened. Account books. In those books he had intended to keep day by day a record of his rising fortunes. Long time ago. A very long time. For many years there has been no record to keep on the blue and red ruled pages! In the middle of the room the big office desk, with one of its legs broken, careened over like the hull100 of a stranded101 ship; most of the drawers had fallen out, disclosing heaps of paper yellow with age and dirt. The revolving102 office chair stood in its place, but he found the pivot103 set fast when he tried to turn it. No matter. He desisted, and his eyes wandered slowly from object to object. All those things had cost a lot of money at the time. The desk, the paper, the torn books, and the broken shelves, all under a thick coat of dust. The very dust and bones of a dead and gone business. He looked at all these things, all that was left after so many years of work, of strife104, of weariness, of discouragement, conquered so many times. And all for what? He stood thinking mournfully of his past life till he heard distinctly the clear voice of a child speaking amongst all this wreck, ruin, and waste. He started with a great fear in his heart, and feverishly105 began to rake in the papers scattered106 on the floor, broke the chair into bits, splintered the drawers by banging them against the desk, and made a big heap of all that rubbish in one corner of the room.
He came out quickly, slammed the door after him, turned the key, and, taking it out, ran to the front rail of the verandah, and, with a great swing of his arm, sent the key whizzing into the river. This done he went back slowly to the table, called the monkey down, unhooked its chain, and induced it to remain quiet in the breast of his jacket. Then he sat again on the table and looked fixedly at the door of the room he had just left. He listened also intently. He heard a dry sound of rustling107; sharp cracks as of dry wood snapping; a whirr like of a bird’s wings when it rises suddenly, and then he saw a thin stream of smoke come through the keyhole. The monkey struggled under his coat. Ali appeared with his eyes starting out of his head.
“Master! House burn!” he shouted.
Almayer stood up holding by the table. He could hear the yells of alarm and surprise in the settlement. Ali wrung108 his hands, lamenting109 aloud.
“Stop this noise, fool!” said Almayer, quietly. “Pick up my hammock and blankets and take them to the other house. Quick, now!”
The smoke burst through the crevices110 of the door, and Ali, with the hammock in his arms, cleared in one bound the steps of the verandah.
“It has caught well,” muttered Almayer to himself. “Be quiet, Jack,” he added, as the monkey made a frantic111 effort to escape from its confinement112.
The door split from top to bottom, and a rush of flame and smoke drove Almayer away from the table to the front rail of the verandah. He held on there till a great roar overhead assured him that the roof was ablaze113. Then he ran down the steps of the verandah, coughing, half choked with the smoke that pursued him in bluish wreaths curling about his head.
On the other side of the ditch, separating Almayer’s courtyard from the settlement, a crowd of the inhabitants of Sambir looked at the burning house of the white man. In the calm air the flames rushed up on high, coloured pale brick-red, with violet gleams in the strong sunshine. The thin column of smoke ascended114 straight and unwavering till it lost itself in the clear blue of the sky, and, in the great empty space between the two houses the interested spectators could see the tall figure of the Tuan Putih, with bowed head and dragging feet, walking slowly away from the fire towards the shelter of “Almayer’s Folly115.”
In that manner did Almayer move into his new house. He took possession of the new ruin, and in the undying folly of his heart set himself to wait in anxiety and pain for that forgetfulness which was so slow to come. He had done all he could. Every vestige116 of Nina’s existence had been destroyed; and now with every sunrise he asked himself whether the longed-for oblivion would come before sunset, whether it would come before he died? He wanted to live only long enough to be able to forget, and the tenacity117 of his memory filled him with dread118 and horror of death; for should it come before he could accomplish the purpose of his life he would have to remember for ever! He also longed for loneliness. He wanted to be alone. But he was not. In the dim light of the rooms with their closed shutters119, in the bright sunshine of the verandah, wherever he went, whichever way he turned, he saw the small figure of a little maiden120 with pretty olive face, with long black hair, her little pink robe slipping off her shoulders, her big eyes looking up at him in the tender trustfulness of a petted child. Ali did not see anything, but he also was aware of the presence of a child in the house. In his long talks by the evening fires of the settlement he used to tell his intimate friends of Almayer’s strange doings. His master had turned sorcerer in his old age. Ali said that often when Tuan Putih had retired121 for the night he could hear him talking to something in his room. Ali thought that it was a spirit in the shape of a child. He knew his master spoke to a child from certain expressions and words his master used. His master spoke in Malay a little, but mostly in English, which he, Ali, could understand. Master spoke to the child at times tenderly, then he would weep over it, laugh at it, scold it, beg of it to go away; curse it. It was a bad and stubborn spirit. Ali thought his master had imprudently called it up, and now could not get rid of it. His master was very brave; he was not afraid to curse this spirit in the very Presence; and once he fought with it. Ali had heard a great noise as of running about inside the room and groans123. His master groaned124. Spirits do not groan122. His master was brave, but foolish. You cannot hurt a spirit. Ali expected to find his master dead next morning, but he came out very early, looking much older than the day before, and had no food all day.
So far Ali to the settlement. To Captain Ford125 he was much more communicative, for the good reason that Captain Ford had the purse and gave orders. On each of Ford’s monthly visits to Sambir Ali had to go on board with a report about the inhabitant of “Almayer’s Folly.” On his first visit to Sambir, after Nina’s departure, Ford had taken charge of Almayer’s affairs. They were not cumbersome126. The shed for the storage of goods was empty, the boats had disappeared, appropriated—generally in night-time—by various citizens of Sambir in need of means of transport. During a great flood the jetty of Lingard and Co. left the bank and floated down the river, probably in search of more cheerful surroundings; even the flock of geese—“the only geese on the east coast”—departed somewhere, preferring the unknown dangers of the bush to the desolation of their old home. As time went on the grass grew over the black patch of ground where the old house used to stand, and nothing remained to mark the place of the dwelling127 that had sheltered Almayer’s young hopes, his foolish dream of splendid future, his awakening128, and his despair.
Ford did not often visit Almayer, for visiting Almayer was not a pleasant task. At first he used to respond listlessly to the old seaman’s boisterous129 inquiries130 about his health; he even made efforts to talk, asking for news in a voice that made it perfectly clear that no news from this world had any interest for him. Then gradually he became more silent—not sulkily—but as if he was forgetting how to speak. He used also to hide in the darkest rooms of the house, where Ford had to seek him out guided by the patter of the monkey galloping131 before him. The monkey was always there to receive and introduce Ford. The little animal seemed to have taken complete charge of its master, and whenever it wished for his presence on the verandah it would tug132 perseveringly133 at his jacket, till Almayer obediently came out into the sunshine, which he seemed to dislike so much.
One morning Ford found him sitting on the floor of the verandah, his back against the wall, his legs stretched stiffly out, his arms hanging by his side. His expressionless face, his eyes open wide with immobile pupils, and the rigidity of his pose, made him look like an immense man-doll broken and flung there out of the way. As Ford came up the steps he turned his head slowly.
“Ford,” he murmured from the floor, “I cannot forget.”
“Can’t you?” said Ford, innocently, with an attempt at joviality134: “I wish I was like you. I am losing my memory—age, I suppose; only the other day my mate—”
He stopped, for Almayer had got up, stumbled, and steadied himself on his friend’s arm.
“Hallo! You are better to-day. Soon be all right,” said Ford, cheerfully, but feeling rather scared.
Almayer let go his arm and stood very straight with his head up and shoulders thrown back, looking stonily135 at the multitude of suns shining in ripples136 of the river. His jacket and his loose trousers flapped in the breeze on his thin limbs.
“Let her go!” he whispered in a grating voice. “Let her go. To-morrow I shall forget. I am a firm man, . . . firm as a . . . rock, . . . firm . . .”
Ford looked at his face—and fled. The skipper was a tolerably firm man himself—as those who had sailed with him could testify—but Almayer’s firmness was altogether too much for his fortitude137.
Next time the steamer called in Sambir Ali came on board early with a grievance138. He complained to Ford that Jim-Eng the Chinaman had invaded Almayer’s house, and actually had lived there for the last month.
“And they both smoke,” added Ali.
Ali nodded, and Ford remained thoughtful; then he muttered to himself, “Poor devil! The sooner the better now.” In the afternoon he walked up to the house.
“What are you doing here?” he asked of Jim-Eng, whom he found strolling about on the verandah.
Jim-Eng explained in bad Malay, and speaking in that monotonous, uninterested voice of an opium smoker140 pretty far gone, that his house was old, the roof leaked, and the floor was rotten. So, being an old friend for many, many years, he took his money, his opium, and two pipes, and came to live in this big house.
“There is plenty of room. He smokes, and I live here. He will not smoke long,” he concluded.
“Where is he now?” asked Ford.
“Inside. He sleeps,” answered Jim-Eng, wearily. Ford glanced in through the doorway. In the dim light of the room he could see Almayer lying on his back on the floor, his head on a wooden pillow, the long white beard scattered over his breast, the yellow skin of the face, the half-closed eyelids showing the whites of the eye only. . . .
He shuddered141 and turned away. As he was leaving he noticed a long strip of faded red silk, with some Chinese letters on it, which Jim-Eng had just fastened to one of the pillars.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“That,” said Jim-Eng, in his colourless voice, “that is the name of the house. All the same like my house. Very good name.”
Ford looked at him for awhile and went away. He did not know what the crazy-looking maze142 of the Chinese inscription143 on the red silk meant. Had he asked Jim-Eng, that patient Chinaman would have informed him with proper pride that its meaning was: “House of heavenly delight.”
In the evening of the same day Babalatchi called on Captain Ford. The captain’s cabin opened on deck, and Babalatchi sat astride on the high step, while Ford smoked his pipe on the settee inside. The steamer was leaving next morning, and the old statesman came as usual for a last chat.
“We had news from Bali last moon,” remarked Babalatchi. “A grandson is born to the old Rajah, and there is great rejoicing.”
Ford sat up interested.
“Yes,” went on Babalatchi, in answer to Ford’s look. “I told him. That was before he began to smoke.”
“Well, and what?” asked Ford.
“I escaped with my life,” said Babalatchi, with perfect gravity, “because the white man is very weak and fell as he rushed upon me.” Then, after a pause, he added, “She is mad with joy.”
“Mrs. Almayer, you mean?”
“Yes, she lives in our Rajah’s house. She will not die soon. Such women live a long time,” said Babalatchi, with a slight tinge144 of regret in his voice. “She has dollars, and she has buried them, but we know where. We had much trouble with those people. We had to pay a fine and listen to threats from the white men, and now we have to be careful.” He sighed and remained silent for a long while. Then with energy:
“There will be fighting. There is a breath of war on the islands. Shall I live long enough to see? . . . Ah, Tuan!” he went on, more quietly, “the old times were best. Even I have sailed with Lanun men, and boarded in the night silent ships with white sails. That was before an English Rajah ruled in Kuching. Then we fought amongst ourselves and were happy. Now when we fight with you we can only die!”
He rose to go. “Tuan,” he said, “you remember the girl that man Bulangi had? Her that caused all the trouble?”
“Yes,” said Ford. “What of her?”
“She grew thin and could not work. Then Bulangi, who is a thief and a pig-eater, gave her to me for fifty dollars. I sent her amongst my women to grow fat. I wanted to hear the sound of her laughter, but she must have been bewitched, and . . . she died two days ago. Nay145, Tuan. Why do you speak bad words? I am old—that is true—but why should I not like the sight of a young face and the sound of a young voice in my house?” He paused, and then added with a little mournful laugh, “I am like a white man talking too much of what is not men’s talk when they speak to one another.”
And he went off looking very sad.
The crowd massed in a semicircle before the steps of “Almayer’s Folly,” swayed silently backwards146 and forwards, and opened out before the group of white-robed and turbaned men advancing through the grass towards the house. Abdulla walked first, supported by Reshid and followed by all the Arabs in Sambir. As they entered the lane made by the respectful throng147 there was a subdued148 murmur20 of voices, where the word “Mati” was the only one distinctly audible. Abdulla stopped and looked round slowly.
“Is he dead?” he asked.
“May you live!” answered the crowd in one shout, and then there succeeded a breathless silence.
Abdulla made a few paces forward and found himself for the last time face to face with his old enemy. Whatever he might have been once he was not dangerous now, lying stiff and lifeless in the tender light of the early day. The only white man on the east coast was dead, and his soul, delivered from the trammels of his earthly folly, stood now in the presence of Infinite Wisdom. On the upturned face there was that serene149 look which follows the sudden relief from anguish150 and pain, and it testified silently before the cloudless heaven that the man lying there under the gaze of indifferent eyes had been permitted to forget before he died.
Abdulla looked down sadly at this Infidel he had fought so long and had bested so many times. Such was the reward of the Faithful! Yet in the Arab’s old heart there was a feeling of regret for that thing gone out of his life. He was leaving fast behind him friendships, and enmities, successes, and disappointments—all that makes up a life; and before him was only the end. Prayer would fill up the remainder of the days allotted151 to the True Believer! He took in his hand the beads152 that hung at his waist.
Abdulla glanced coldly once more at the serene face.
“Let us go,” he said, addressing Reshid.
And as they passed through the crowd that fell back before them, the beads in Abdulla’s hand clicked, while in a solemn whisper he breathed out piously154 the name of Allah! The Merciful! The Compassionate155!
该作者的其它作品
《Lord Jim 吉姆老爷》
《白水仙号上的黑家伙 The Nigger of the Narcissus》
《The Mirror of the Sea大海的镜子》
该作者的其它作品
《Lord Jim 吉姆老爷》
《白水仙号上的黑家伙 The Nigger of the Narcissus》
《The Mirror of the Sea大海的镜子》
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1
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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mangrove
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| n.(植物)红树，红树林 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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13
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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14
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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18
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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19
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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20
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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21
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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22
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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23
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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24
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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25
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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26
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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27
limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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28
erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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29
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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30
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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31
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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32
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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33
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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34
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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35
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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36
rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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37
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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38
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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39
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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40
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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41
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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42
treacherously
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| 背信弃义地； 背叛地； 靠不住地； 危险地 | |
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43
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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44
chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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45
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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46
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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47
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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48
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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49
transfused
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| v.输（血或别的液体）( transfuse的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；使…被灌输或传达 | |
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50
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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52
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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53
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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54
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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55
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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56
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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57
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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58
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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59
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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60
vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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61
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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62
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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63
embarking
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| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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64
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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65
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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66
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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67
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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68
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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69
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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70
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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71
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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72
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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73
crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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74
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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75
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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76
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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77
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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78
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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79
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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80
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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81
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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82
mooring
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| n.停泊处；系泊用具，系船具；下锚v.停泊，系泊（船只）(moor的现在分词) | |
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83
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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84
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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85
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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86
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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87
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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88
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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89
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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90
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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91
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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92
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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93
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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94
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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95
industriously
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96
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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98
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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99
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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100
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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101
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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102
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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103
pivot
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| v.在枢轴上转动；装枢轴，枢轴；adj.枢轴的 | |
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104
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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105
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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106
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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107
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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108
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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109
lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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110
crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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111
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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112
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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113
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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114
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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116
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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117
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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118
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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119
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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120
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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121
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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122
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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123
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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124
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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125
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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126
cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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127
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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128
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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129
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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130
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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131
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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132
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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133
perseveringly
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| 坚定地 | |
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134
joviality
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| n.快活 | |
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135
stonily
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| 石头地，冷酷地 | |
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136
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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137
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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138
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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139
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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140
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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141
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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142
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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143
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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144
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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145
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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146
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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147
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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148
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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149
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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150
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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151
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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153
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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155
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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